


The Bitter Pill

by Raine_Wynd



Series: Author's Favorites [6]
Category: Highlander: The Series
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Canon-Typical Violence, Canonical Character Death, Drug Use, Episode Related, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Grief, Headhunting, Immortality, M/M, Old Friends, Regret, Rehabilitation, Slash, canon alcohol abuse, canon drug abuse, lost loves
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2001-01-02
Updated: 2001-01-02
Packaged: 2017-10-07 19:53:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,013
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/68626
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Raine_Wynd/pseuds/Raine_Wynd
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set after the episode "Courage". Duncan remembers Brian Cullen.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Bitter Pill

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Cinel](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Cinel).



> Disclaimer and Notes: Not mine, Panzer/Davis owns them. This is a plot bunny that emerged during the writing of One Clear Morning. Rated NC-17, and all I will say about that is this is not for the gen/het crowd.... Written mostly over New Year's weekend 2001, and mostly in one sitting.
> 
> Many thanks to Rhiannon Shaw for the beta, inspiration, and the friendship.
> 
> For Cinel, who asked, and for Julia Walter, who seconded the request.

Richie looked up as immortal presence slid through his body. The feel of it was familiar, but still he took no chances. One hand on the sword hidden under the desk, he pushed his chair back slightly, ready to defend himself if need be. Even from his position in the dojo office, Richie had a clear view of anyone entering the martial arts studio. Then Mac stepped through the dojo doors, and Richie relaxed.

All too willing to abandon the paperwork that awaited his perusal on the desk, Richie stood to greet his mentor and friend. "Mac! You all right? I came in and everything was locked up, but it looked like you left in a hurry."

"Yeah," Mac said shortly. "I did. Brian called."

"Brian called," Richie repeated, confused. "_Brian_ called? That out-of-control junkie?" Richie's disbelief was underscored by his gesturing. "The one who tried to kill me? Who probably was responsible for that bus accident the other day where a bunch of people died? What did he want _now_?" Then Richie took a second look at his friend, seeing the faint exhaustion, the not-yet-faded grief in Mac's eyes, the carefully controlled way Mac was holding himself together, the extra sword in his hand. "Oh, man, I'm sorry. I mean, I know I wanted him dead, but..." Awkwardly, Richie tried to find the words to fully express his condolences for the loss of someone he knew Mac had called friend.

Mac tried to smile, but the lie wouldn't hold, and his smile slipped. "I know," he told Richie. "Listen," he said, knuckles almost white around the sword hilt as he fought his grief, "I think I'm going to be alone for a while. Would you please handle— "

"Say no more, Mac. I got you covered." He pointed his index fingers like guns at the older immortal, wishing there was something more that he could do even as some other part of him cheered the fact that Brian Cullen was no longer a threat to society.

"Thanks, Richie."

The young immortal watched his elder head towards the elevator, looking every inch like a man who'd done the one thing he'd hated to do. Not for the first time that week, Richie wondered just what kind of man Brian Cullen had been to cause Mac to believe so strongly that Brian was worthy of redemption. Best swordsman in all of Europe, yeah, Richie had heard that part, but there was something else...something deeper. _I mean, Mac is definitely not in the 'might makes right' league. Besides, the way he was talking about him, it was like he couldn't find the words to tell me what was so great about him. So there _ **_had _**_to be something else _— _right?_

Sighing, aware that what he didn't know about Mac could fill a book, Richie put the matter out of his mind, and turned to the business of being a dojo manager.

****

Alone again, the grief that had torn through Mac in the wake of Brian's Quickening returned. Breakfast with Anne Lindsey had been a pleasant distraction and a kind of comfort, but it hadn't changed the fact that one of Mac's closest friends was dead, killed by his own hand.

Staring at the sword that had once been Brian's, Mac felt the memories wash through him. Hiring a coach to travel from Geneva to Paris in 1810 had been a matter of course; the company had been completely unexpected, and Mac had to admit, not unwelcome. He hadn't been looking forward to the long trip with only the coach driver as company.

*****

_The lanky immortal with blond-brown hair and a mustache was well dressed; clearly, he was a gentleman of some stature. His tone held wariness as he greeted Mac. "If you've come looking for Brian Cullen, I heard he's gone to France."_

_"I'm Duncan MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod," Mac returned evenly, instinctively shifting to a fighting stance as he stood before the coach station. "And no, I'm not looking for a fight. A traveling companion to France, yes, but not a fight." He paused. "Though I will admit to hearing in a tavern the other night about the best swordsman in Europe. Would you be that Brian Cullen?"_

_"I might," the stranger returned, and the smile that spread across that generous mouth tinged his voice with good humor. "Come have a drink with me, and I'll let you know."_

_Mac grinned, and relaxed his battle-ready posture somewhat. Something told him that he was looking at Brian Cullen; there was too much honesty in that face to ever play poker well. "There's not a drink to be had for miles."_

_The other immortal chuckled and reached for a silver flask concealed in an inside pocket of his coat. "You've never heard of private stock?"_

_"Of course," Mac returned with a chuckle of his own, reaching into his own coat for a similar flask. "Shall we call this a draw?"_

_"No, let's call this a toast to friendship, from one Scot to another." He raised his flask and gestured with his free hand as if to bow, never lowering his head. "The name's Brian Cullen, and I have no desire to match swords against you in a duel to the death. As in, your death." He spoke matter-of-factly, as if this was nothing he hadn't said before, and knew would happen again without fail._

_The two men drank and Mac climbed into the coach. "Now," Brian said briskly as he settled his coat around him for easier access to both blade and drink, "where is that blasted coach driver?"_

*****

The memory faded. Mac smiled as he remembered how, over the course of their journey, he and Brian had become good friends, sharing wine, whiskey, and occasionally, women. Then some fool nobleman's son had decided to challenge Brian, who, drunk or sober, was still better than any swordsman Mac had known in recent memory. The night Brian had caught up with him at the inn following that challenge was etched in Mac's brain.

*****

_As Mac learned upon Brian's arrival, Brian had faced two other challenges on the road, before reaching the inn where he'd agreed to meet Mac. The first had been from a mortal, a peer of the nobleman's son who'd died earlier that day; Brian had been able to convince him that his honor was better served elsewhere. The second had been immortal, and had come hunting for Brian Cullen as well, and lost._

_The inn had been typically crowded; the road on which it sat was a well-traveled path despite being the alternate route from Geneva to Paris. The best Mac had been able to do(with the aid of a bit of coin, of course) was convince the innkeeper to give him the room with the largest bed. Unfortunately, Brian was having problems with the Quickening he'd taken; it made him jumpy, unable to sleep, and he'd resorted to pacing the floor rather than lie beside Mac, breathing raggedly. _

_"I'm out of whiskey," Mac apologized from his position on the bed and out of his friend's way. "Innkeeper won't have more till the morning."_

_"Not your fault," Brian assured him without ever slowing. "I've had a few like this before."_

****

Mac closed his eyes and swallowed hard as the half-forgotten words triggered the more recent memory of Brian's Quickening. He hadn't been able to sleep all night, wound up as if he'd been the one on drugs, and in a way, Mac knew he had been. Brian had been high - higher than a kite to borrow one of the phrases Richie had used to describe him - all the time he'd tried to kill Mac in that deserted parking garage. A residue of that had poured through him the moment Brian's power surged through his body, and some part of Mac wanted to believe that the depression he was feeling was for that reason. The rest of him knew it to be a lie.

*****

1810

_"Anything I can do to help?" Mac asked Brian as he lay on the bed. The candlelight left most of the room in darkness, but Mac had assured Brian that it didn't bother him. Still, concern for his friend kept him awake._

_Brian shot him a wicked, rueful smile, started to speak, then stopped. His gaze took on a speculative gleam as it traveled over Mac's face and searched his eyes. At first, Mac didn't understand why Brian was looking at him that way, and then he knew. He'd seen that look before when Brian had eyed some pretty barmaid, trying to figure out whether she'd be willing to share herself with him. Mac's heart jolted as shock flared through him...shock and something more._

_"Brian?" Mac croaked, his voice abruptly hoarse with more than just surprise._

_His friend shook himself, then started pacing again. "I'll be fine," he said, but his tone made the assurance sound like he was trying to convince himself more than Mac._

_Alarmed, Mac rose. The room wasn't large; Brian's pacing took him four strides to cross the room from end to end, five if he shortened his stride. It took Mac only an arm's reach to stop his friend in his tracks. "Brian?" he asked again, and then he forgot what he was going to ask. The candlelight wasn't enough to reveal fully the secrets Brian's green eyes held, but Mac could see enough to recognize the need he saw on his friend's diamond-shaped face. He found himself staring, unable to pull away, overly conscious of Brian's grasp of his arm as it rested against Brian's thin waist. _

_Brian breathed deeply, and Mac watched, fascinated, as the motion made Brian's bare chest rise and fall. Both men had stripped down to breeches in preparation for sleeping, and now Mac was glad of it. He could see the faint outlines of Brian's chest muscles, feel the sparse hair against his arm. Some part of him was screaming that he shouldn't be so fascinated, that the attraction he was feeling was wrong, yet he couldn't stop. _

_"You're going to wear a hole in the floor," Mac said, trying for normalcy._

_"Of that, I don't doubt," Brian replied, chuckling. "Maybe if I laid down, it would settle."_

_Mac smiled. "Maybe," he agreed, and laid down on the bed, then made room for his friend._

_Brian climbed into the bed, then lay flat on his back. With mere inches separating them, Mac could feel his friend's trembling, and knew that whoever the immortal had been, it had been someone with a lot of power. "Who was it?" Mac asked._

_"Does it matter?" Brian asked wearily. "She was old, and tired of the Game." He sighed, then turned on his side. "Go to sleep, Mac."_

_Not so easily pushed aside, Mac reached for his friend. Brian resisted the touch for a few beats, then rolled over, and held Mac. Startled, Mac swallowed once before wrapping his arms around Brian and settling into the embrace. Mac stroked the other man's long hair as he would a child's, and Brian shuddered as he took a deep breath. Lying this close, Mac could feel Brian's Quickening-induced arousal against his belly, and knew that what Brian needed was more intimate contact than what he was getting. Even as Mac thought that, something electric flared to life between them and made Mac's blood rush to one specific point of his anatomy._

_Brian lifted his face, mouth open to apologize; then he tilted his head, apparently surprised at something he saw in Mac's expression. He leaned forward, closing the distance as if he was going to kiss Mac, but buried his head in the crook of Mac's shoulder and neck. Mac felt Brian fumble between them, and realized that Brian was undoing Mac's breeches with one hand and his own with the other. Brian's trembling hands, though, were having difficulty with the laces, and the oath that slipped from his lips was far from polite. _

_Mac didn't think twice; he reached over and helped Brian with the laces. The mutual stroking provoked to be too much; just as the last lace came undone, Brian freed his cock and his seed spurted on the sheets, on Mac, on Brian himself. Mac's body arched off the bed as he came an instant after Brian._

_"Sorry," Brian apologized shakily, and Mac wasn't sure if he was apologizing for all of it.or just the speed of it. He wasn't about to question the difference, though, at least, not now._

_"It's all right," Mac said awkwardly, suddenly uncertain as to what to do next. A thousand half-finished sentences rolled to the tip of his tongue, but they all seemed inane. Abruptly, he realized he couldn't find the words to express the jumble of thoughts and emotions speeding through his brain, and so he swallowed the urge. For several minutes, Mac lay there in the semi-darkness, vividly aware that Brian's trembling had decreased, and that his own heartrate was returning to normal. He was almost convinced that Brian had gone to sleep._

_Releasing Brian, he started to shift away from the other man, intending to at least try to get some rest. A firm grip, however, prevented his movement. "Brian?" he asked._

_Brian stared at him, then brushed a hesitant kiss against Mac's lips. "Duncan," he said, in a tone that spoke of gratitude and wonder. Then he chuckled softly. "Anyone ever tell you you're just full of surprises?"_

*****

"Not like you did," Mac told the memory. Brian had held a special place in his heart, somewhere between a lover and a friend, and somehow managing more than just one or the other. Mac knew he would have willingly died for Brian, and that Brian would've returned the favor. Though Mac had once found Brian addicted to opium during a stay in San Francisco, he'd never guessed that Brian had gone back to seeking comfort in drugs and alcohol. He'd seemed so vibrant and alive, so sure of himself, the last time Mac had seen him that Brian had been one of the last people Mac would have thought to so completely lose control.

*****

_1857_

_"Are you sure you'll be all right?" Mac asked anxiously. He hated to leave Brian, not after three years in his company, helping him get over his addiction to opium, but he couldn't stay in San Francisco any longer. The Quickening he'd taken the day before had seen to that._

_Brian smiled, his eyes bright with life. He stood confidently, with none of the resignation and drug-induced stupor Mac remembered from only a few years previously. "Of course, Mac. Thanks to you." He hugged Duncan hard, then stepped back. "I'll catch up with you, see if you've left any pretty ladies for me."_

_ "I think I'd be the one to see if you've left any, Brian," Mac retorted with a laugh. Picking up his bag from where he'd set it on the train platform so that he could hug Brian, he became serious as he faced his friend one last time. "All right. You take care of yourself."_

_"Don't I always?" Mac glared at him, and Brian acknowledged the silent rebuke with a chuckle. "All right, occasionally I need help, but I'll be fine. You'll miss your train if you don't get on it, Mac." Brian dug his hands into his pockets, and pulled the edges of his coat closer to ward off the autumn chill. _

_The train whistle blew and the conductor called for last boarding, forcing Mac to take his seat or be left behind. His last image of his friend was of a smiling Brian, waving goodbye._

*****

With a deep sigh, Mac acknowledged that the Brian he'd loved had died long before last night. He just hadn't been around to see it happen, and probably couldn't have done much to prevent it. Too many deaths on Brian's soul, too many challenges taken, too much time spent looking over his shoulder for the next one, never able to trust anyone lest they were out to get him.... and it had already been too much for Brian in 1810, much less so in 1854. What it must have been like by even the 1970s, with the increasing ease of travel and communication, didn't really bear thinking on. Mac knew himself well enough to know he would think about it, however, late into this night and several others.

All he could do was hope and pray that he would never become what Brian had. Mac never wanted to believe that his only friends were in a whiskey bottle or a gram of cocaine, and that the only way out was through a coffin. He could almost see _what_ Brian had been thinking, but he didn't understand _how_ his friend had come to those conclusions. Mac never wanted to understand that.

None of it, though— not the prayers or the hope or the reluctant grasping for reasons — would give him back one of the few men he'd ever loved. Nor did it ease the aching pit of regret that filled him now. Wiping away the tears he'd only been half-aware of shedding, Mac exhaled slowly. He had to go on living: he had a student who looked up to him, a business to run, a very intriguing and sexy doctor to get to know. The pain would fade in time, but he couldn't let it eat him alive. If there was any gift in Brian's death, it was the lesson that not letting life's challenges get the best of him took courage. Still, the cost of that knowledge was a bitter pill to swallow.

With the calculated determination of a man who'd survived when others would have given up, Mac slammed the door shut on the mental voice that wondered just how many times Brian had felt this way.

"All that glitters isn't gold  
Too much is overkill  
Love can be beautiful  
Or a bitter pill"

\- Jani Lane (Warrant), "The Bitter Pill"

Story concept


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